


Embrace

by peanutofthenight



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bodyguard Draco, Cheating, Draco Malfoy In Love, F/M, HEA, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Honestly they’re both idiots, Infidelity, Pining Draco Malfoy, Short Story, Smut, Soulmates, Vignettes, affair
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-17
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 07:48:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27599831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peanutofthenight/pseuds/peanutofthenight
Summary: Hermione Granger, proud protector of the perpetually persecuted. Her bodyguard is Draco  Malfoy: disgraced and disposable because of the Dark Mark scarring his arm. One night, one mistake. But it won't ever happen again. Ever.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 35
Kudos: 296





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warning: This story is all infidelity. I do not support or condone in any way. But this is fanfic, and my brain ran with it.  
> This is a short story. Part II/final part is almost done and will be posted in a few days.

**I**

**_2004:_ **

****

It had all come full circle for Draco Malfoy, _finally._ He had spent so many years after the war trying to make reparations – most of them were financial, to be fair. But he _had_ apologized to Potter and his Weasley friend. Shaking their hands had made his skin crawl.

He had been shunned from pubs, bookstores, Quidditch shops…If it existed in Diagon Alley, Draco Malfoy had had been banned from it after the war. He had earned his right to exist in some of these spaces – not all, not by a long shot – but some was definitely better than none.

Draco thought things were looking up. Really, truly looking up. He had a girlfriend for the first time since Pansy Parkinson -- Astoria Greengrass. She was a pureblood, and beautiful. She knew which fork to use with which course, she could engage in witty banter with all the society gentleman. In short, she was everything he wanted in a Malfoy wife.

He _supposed_.

Astoria Greengrass was everything he had ever wanted. But, really, he didn’t want her at all.

But, ultimately, he had waited for _this:_ everything coming full circle.

Already in the middle of some sort of existential crisis, Draco was told he would be guarding Granger – Yes, _the_ Hermione Granger – on her next mission of ridiculous Gryffindor bravery.

It was actually just a magical law convention, but Draco had a flair for the dramatics. And this was just terrible.

She fought all day for the rights of downtrodden – Centaurs, Werewolves, Veela. He could’ve sworn he heard “former Death Eaters” at one point, but that might have been just too much to hope for.

His only job was to stand by and make sure she didn’t get herself killed.

There had been a few attempts after the war – mostly half-assed. But the one or two that had almost come to fruition…Well, that was enough to earn the brightest witch of her age her own personal bodyguard permanently.

Which is where Draco came in. Tall, broad, strong, and a fantastic wizard, if he did say so himself. The _best_ part? He was completely dispensable because of the Dark Mark that scarred his left arm. The _perfect_ bodyguard.

The Wizarding world hated him. And now he was defending the witch he was taught to hate since birth.

_fucking ridiculous._

He consoled himself that this was just a one-off. Her normal bodyguard was Finnigan, but all too predictably, a bit of magic had blown up in his face and he was currently at St. Mungo’s, healing from his accidental, self-induced burns.

But still, it was currently his job to protect _Granger._ The world could not possibly be anymore cruel to him. At the thought, he scratched instinctively at the Dark Mark hidden under his suit. Even after all this time, it still itched constantly.

So, Draco did his job. He stood by the stage, his arms crossed in front of himself, watching for any threats. After having Voldemort in his house for an extended period of time, he was incredibly observant – it was easy to expect the worst constantly, obsessively waiting for the other shoe to proverbially drop.

She was speaking into the magic microphone, her voice magnified so all of the audience could hear – something about vampires this time. Draco honestly didn’t care. He was hungry, he wanted a drink, and his blasted arm itched.

Draco was jarred from his own thoughts – _Fuck, she could’ve been killed because you weren’t paying attention, you shit_ – as the audience exploded into applause. Draco shook his head, trying to clear it, and stepped forward, lifting his arm for Granger to grab as she descended the stairs.

She scowled and refused his arm, walking down the steps by herself.

Draco rolled his eyes. He secretly hoped she’d trip and fall.

But, of course she didn’t. She was steady on her heels – Granger, in _heels?_ – her smile broad as she waved at the crowd that was cheering for her. She paused on her descent, as if to address the crowd.

In that moment, Draco felt nervousness explode in his stomach – something was wrong. Without a second thought, he grabbed Granger’s arm and apparated.

They landed outside, a few blocks from where the conference was taking place.

“What the _fuck,_ Malfoy?” she screamed.

“Hush, Granger. Something was wrong.”

“Don’t tell me to hush -- !”

“I’m telling you to hush. So hush. Just trust me, ok? We needed to leave.”

“Trust you? _You?”_

“Yes, me. I realize I’m garbage. But I’m also your bodyguard for the next…twelve or so hours, so can you just fucking _listen_ to someone else for a _second._ If you die, I don’t get paid.”

“I want a drink,” she whispered. “I felt it, too. Something wasn’t right.”

“Muggle London is probably our best bet,” Draco replied, holding out his arm to her.

She eyed it warily.

“Side-along, Granger. I _am_ being paid for a service. What if you splinched yourself? Again, I’d like to be paid.”

She scowled but took hold of his arm anyway, and he apparated them into London.

He could use a stiff drink, too.

**_Room 309:_ **

It had been years since Draco had slept soundly. He was plagued by nightmares – every single night. He often woke up sweating, or sometimes crying, though he’d never admit that. The nightmares were horrendous, and Voldemort was prevalent in every single one. The snake-like eyes – red, so unnatural -- the flat nose. His skin, white and flaky, like a snake currently shedding its skin.

Charity Burbage. Murdered on his dining room table. Nagini eating the body. _Her_ body. Right in front of him, and he had been forced to watch, expressionless. He had swallowed his own vomit that day.

He woke most days with a belly bubbling with anxiety.

But today, he felt warm – _so_ warm. Astoria must’ve found the right temperature on the temprostrat. Thermocrat? The muggle device, with the temperatures. Tempersat?

Draco slowly opened his eyes and realized he wasn’t in his flat, nor was he with Astoria.

His body was currently wrapped around Hermione Granger.

_fuck_

They were both naked.

_no no no no_

He was hard against her back and _fuck._ They had fucked last night, it was undeniable.

She was on the left side of the bed, turned away from him. Her breasts rose steadily with every breath she took in.

Draco gulped. He had had sex with Granger. He needed out – immediately. This was not what he signed up for.

His head hurt, what the _fuck?_

He jumped out of her bed, pulling on his boxers that had been discarded on the floor at some point in the night. 

She grumbled unintelligibly, still asleep and oblivious to the fact that they had _fucked._

Draco found his white button-up, discarded right at the door, apparently -- and his trousers, on the complete opposite side of the room, almost if they had been flung against the wall. He hastily buttoned his shirt and his trousers before he paused and stared at the witch on the bed – his bed? Her bed? Whose room was this and _how_ did they get there?

_fuck_

When he looked up, Granger was awake and staring at him.

“What, Granger?” he hissed.

“Last night did _not_ happen,” she seethed, clutching the sheets of the bed tightly around her breasts.

Draco was momentarily distracted by a flash of a very recent memory – his lips wrapped around a nipple, her flesh pebbled with goosebumps, a soft moan escaping her own lips –

_no_

“No, it very much didn’t,” he agreed.

“You need to leave.”

Ah, so it was _her_ room.

“Understood, Granger.”

“When this conference is over, you and I will never see each other again, understood?”

Draco nodded, wanting absolutely nothing more than to _never_ see this woman again. “Cannot wait, Granger.”

He went back to gathering his clothes – Merlin, had she just ripped the clothes from his back? They were _everywhere –_

“Can you hurry up?”

Well, that kind of hurt. “You know I saved your life last night, right?” he seethed.

_fucking just –_

She seemed to soften at that. “Was there any news?” she asked quietly.

“Don’t know. You’re busy kicking me out of your room, haven’t had time to check The Prophet.”

“Then how do you know you saved my life?”

“I just. Fuck, Granger. I just know, ok? I have a bit of Seer in my blood. I have gut instincts. I had a bad one last night. It’s never steered me wrong -- _ever_ , so I went with it.”

She snorted. “Seer? Please.”

“Don’t make fun of magic you don’t understand. Trelawney is as batty as they come, but Sight is real.”

“Oh, does Draco Malfoy have the Sight?” she giggled to herself.

“No,” he replied with a frown. “You know what, Granger? Fuck you, I’m done. Someone else can be your handler for the rest of this ridiculous conference. Get yourself killed for all I care.”

 _Finally,_ he found his suit jacket, and pulling it on in one swift movement, he left her room, slamming the door behind him.

If he never saw Hermione Granger again it would be too soon.

**_2005:_ **

It had almost been a year, but there she was, the Golden Girl herself: Hermione Granger.

_fucking bitch_

Another year, another event, another day Draco risked his life for money.

It was also possible he liked the adrenaline, but he’d never admit that.

Her hair was slightly more tamed – shorter and smoother than the last time he had seen it –

_wrapped around his knuckles as he pulled her head back to kiss and bite against the hollow of her throat she moaned and it was delicious –_

He fucking hated her, but he’d be lying to himself if said he didn’t want her again. The memories of last year were hazy, and few and far between, but _damn,_ what he did remember had been incredible.

Draco didn’t realize he’d been staring at her until her gaze landed on him. She blinked slowly, and then nodded at him curtly.

_the fuck does that mean_

Honestly, why did he even care?

_you don’t_

But he continued to watch her until she slipped away from the crowd, and the fans, and what if someone was trying to kill her again? The stage from last year had been blown to absolute smithereens after they had apparated. No one had been killed, but there had been a few injuries. He knew she probably felt guilty about that, her bloody hero complex and what not.

Without a second thought, he followed her. He found her outside, leaning against a wall, one heel pressed against it, her arms folded over her chest.

“Stop watching me.” She didn’t even turn her head to look at him.

“I’m not,” he protested.

“You are! All night long, you’ve been watching me. Stop it. It was a year ago…I’m with Ron.”

“Alright.”

“Alright?”

“I said, ‘alright,’ Granger. Do you want me to fight you on this?”

“No,” she replied quietly.

“What? Do you want me to snog you instead?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

**_Room 1100:_ **

It was different than last time, he thought. For one, neither of them was blackout drunk. No, they had both consciously decided to fuck each other’s brains out this time. She didn’t attempt to kick him out like she had a year ago. Instead, she just rolled off his sweaty body, lying a few inches away from him. He could feel her amber eyes on him. She did not speak.

Draco didn’t like silence, so he attempted to break it: “I thought you said we’d never see each other again. I certainly was not expecting a repeat performance of last year.” He turned his head and smirked at her, expecting a distasteful expression to settle upon her face, or a disdainful response – hell, even a slap would not have been entirely unexpected – after all, this was _Granger –_ but there was nothing. She returned his smirk, but she did not speak.

Surprised, Draco continued: “Why was there a repeat performance, anyway?”

Granger’s smirk only grew, and she stifled a giggle.

She was beautiful when she laughed, Draco decided. He had the sudden urge to wrap his arms around her, to hold her, so he scooted his body closer and wrapped himself around her, pulling her into himself. Her hair, still slightly bushy – and the vigorous fuck certainly hadn’t done it any favors – invaded his face, his nostrils, his eyes. It was softer than it looked, and he inhaled the scent of her hair. Vanilla, lavender, and the salty smell of her drying sweat. He found he quite liked it.

She didn’t fight him, which is what he had expected, but she didn’t relax into him either. She simply laid there in his arms, allowing him to hold her, a minor comfort in his fucked up life. Still, she didn’t speak.

It wasn’t until the rays of the morning sun began to flood into the room, did she break the silence. “I have to go,” she said quietly, knowing Draco wasn’t asleep.

“Ok,” he replied, removing his arms from her and suddenly feeling very cold, and very much alone.

She rose and slowly began to dress herself. Draco watched her from the bed, admiring the flare of her hips, the soft swell of her breasts that fit oh-so-perfectly in the palms of his hands, the delicate curve of her neck, hunched over as she pulled on her skirt.

Fully dressed, she made to leave. She paused for a moment before turning around to face Draco, still laying naked in his bed. “This won’t happen again.”

“Understood, Granger.”

**_2006:_ **

The wedding had been in all the newspapers. The wizarding wedding of the decade and all that, second only to the wedding of Potter and the She-Weasel that had happened immediately after the end of the war.

Granger and Weasley, the golden couple. Media darlings and saviors of wizard England.

He wasn’t surprised that morning when he picked up The Prophet to see Granger and Weasley on the front page, Granger smiling and waving enthusiastically at him, her curls more tamed than he had ever seen them, sleek and shiny as they fell across her shoulders. Granger, in the big white dress, and she looked –

_fucking beautiful_

Weasley’s suit appeared to be slightly askew, and he grinned at the camera – he just _fucking grinned._

It didn’t hurt. It shouldn’t hurt. It _didn’t_ hurt.

He and Granger were nothing. Had never been anything. He was with _Astoria._ She had made that astoundingly clear. It had just been an impromptu shag – _or two –_ but that was over, it was _done._ She had said it would never happen again. It had been over a year since he had seen her last, when he had taken a small comfort in her, his arms wrapped around her lithe body, her hair in his face. And now she was married.

Clearly, it was not going to happen again. Also, Draco didn’t care.

So, Draco was surprised when he received an owl a few weeks later:

_I have a conference in a few weeks, and I’m in need of a bodyguard. Think you could lend me your services?_

_-H_

Draco couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face.

**_Room 424:_ **

They laid side by side, their breathing still heavy, the sweat just beginning to dry on their naked skin. He had tried to resist – really, he had – but she had been aggressive, vigorous, dominant as she had taken him by his collar and pressed him against the elevator, slamming her lips to his. He really did try to resist -- but she was needful, and wholly intoxicating, and he wanted to be used by her, he wanted to feel her again.

She was everything that was beautiful in the world and he was little more than the garbage that littered the streets of Knockturn Alley, so if Hermione Granger wanted to use him, if she could gain some form of pleasure from him – well, that was all the redemption he could ever hope for.

“So, I hear congratulations are in order,” he said, as his breathing finally evened out.

She made no attempt to move and continued to stare up at the ceiling. “Yes,” she replied simply.

“How was the wedding?”

“Fine.”

“Were there a lot of people – at the wedding?”

“A few.”

“Did you have a good time?”

She turned her head to look at him then. “What are you doing?”

“Asking you about your wedding, Granger.”

“Why?”

“Well now that we’ve shagged, I thought I’d try and make polite conversation. It’s been a year since I last saw you.”

She snorted. “Please. Because we talked last year,” she said sarcastically.

He turned his face to look at her then. “I tried. You just laid there and smirked.” Draco turned away once more. “Forgive me, I’ll just be quiet. I should’ve realized you just wanted my cock.”

It didn’t hurt. It shouldn’t hurt. It _didn’t_ hurt.

She threw an arm over his belly and moved closer to him. “I’ll answer one question.”

“One?” he teased.

“Don’t test me, Malfoy,” she growled, climbing on top of him.

“Fine, one question. Why did you owl me?” he asked quietly, running his hands up her arms as they braced herself above him.

She shrugged. “I needed a bodyguard.”

“Yes. But why me?”

“I said one question, Malfoy.”

“It doesn’t count if you evade the actual answer to said question.”

She sighed and lowered herself, wrapping her arms around his neck as her chest pressed against his. “I wanted to see you.”

Draco lifted his head and gently kissed her jaw where it hovered above him. “Why?”

“I answered your one question, Malfoy.” She grinned at him.

“Not satisfactorily, Granger.”

“I let you have the point about evasion, Malfoy. I answered you question. Just because it doesn’t satisfy your curiosity does not mean that I should expand on my reasoning. That is not my responsibility.”

“Ever the swot, I see.” He kissed down her neck until he found the hollow of her throat – just where she loved to be kissed –

_oh god Draco yes yes more_

She pulled away from him when he reached her pulse point with his lips, he arms straight as he rested her hands, now balled in fists, against his chest. “You were really horrible to me, you know that?”

“Yes,” he agreed. There was no point in fighting it. It was the truth.

“Oh,” she seemed surprised by his admission.

He rubbed at her fists, hoping to ease some of the tension that she held. “I was an absolute shit to you, Granger. I’ll admit that. I was a stupid kid with disgusting, misguided beliefs.”

Her fingers now splayed on his chest. “Do you still believe in all that?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Draco tilted his head. “Do you think I’d be here, with you, right now, if I still believed in all of that shit?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t really know anything about you.”

He agreed. “No, you don’t.”

Draco didn’t offer her anything else – He could’ve told her about Charity Burbage, or living with Lord Voldemort, or watching his father slowly become an empty shell right front of him, or about the nightmares, or the panic attacks. But she didn’t ask, so he didn’t tell.

She left sometime after he had fallen asleep, and he sighed as he woke up alone, wondering when he would see her next – if he would ever see her again. ****

**_Room 572:_ **

“Only 6 months this time instead of a year? My, Granger, are you going soft on me now?”

She snorted at him, but still, she moved closer and pushed her hand through his hair. He leaned into her hand immediately, enjoying her fingers in his hair, her nails grazing his scalp. No answer.

“Ignoring me again, Granger?”

“No,” she said quietly. “Just thinking.”

“Care to share with the class?”

She sighed and dropped her head down onto his shoulder. “I’ve been lonely.”

Draco wrapped his arms around her. “Lonely? Why?”

“Ron’s gone a lot. Auror stuff, you know. And even when he is home. It’s just –“ she trailed off.

“Just what?”

“There’s a disconnect, you know? It’s like since we got married…He doesn’t feel like he has to _try_ anymore. He just wants to eat dinner and go to bed, and I’m trying to figure out how I fit into his life. Sometimes, I just feel like a guest, an annoyance – it’s stupid, honestly.”

“It’s not stupid, Granger. Weasley is oblivious, always has been. Talk to the git, I’m sure he’ll shape up.”

_fucking Weasley._

“You think so?” she asked quietly.

“If he loves you, he will.” She was silent at that. “Are you unhappy, Hermione?”

Her head snapped towards him. He had only ever called her Hermione when he was inside of her.

_fuck Hermione just like that –_

“No, I’m not unhappy. Just, trying to figure things out.”

“It would probably help if you weren’t sleeping with me.”

“I know,” she replied solemnly.

“As long as you aren’t unhappy.”

“Why do you care?” she asked incredulously

“This isn’t nothing, you know. I don’t just -- I have a girlfriend, you know. I have, since the first time. You’re not just -- I don’t know. But you’re not _nothing_ to me. I do care. A little.”

“I didn’t realize you had a girlfriend.”

“You never asked.”

“Is it serious?”

“I suppose.”

“You _suppose_?”

“Now, Granger. I did just fuck you.”

“That’s not – that doesn’t mean –” she protested.

“No?”

“No,” she affirmed.

“Right.”

She was quiet for a moment before speaking again. “I should go.”

“No. It’s still dark out. Stay.” He tightened his hold on her.

He slept much better when she was near.

When he awoke the next morning, she was gone. Again.

**_2007:_ **

**_Room 1412:_ **

“You care about me?” she asked. They were under the covers, the soft morning light streaming through the windows of the hotel room. Draco was amazed she was still here. Last night had been quiet -- she had owled him once more, in need of a bodyguard. He had met her at the hotel at the time she had requested, and with no words, but simply a nod of her head, she led him upstairs and into the hotel room they now occupied.

The sex had been different, too. It was usually frenzied, desperate – two people in need slamming their bodies together until they exploded into white-hot sparks. She had been on top, calculated and deliberate with her thrusts, her eyes, nearly black with lust, focused on his face. It had scared him, had worried him. He had placed his palms on either side of her face and whispered: “Hermione?”

“Just let me,” she had gasped, burying her face in his shoulder as she continued to rock against him.

“Ok.”

Within minutes, she was shuddering against him, her teeth gripping his shoulder as she bared down on him. She was immobile as he continued thrusting into her, quickly finding his own release.

It had been quiet ever since.

“Yes,” he said simply.

“Why?”

“What do you mean ‘why’?”

“Nothing,” she replied quietly. There a tinge of sadness in her voice and he didn’t like it. At all.

“No, not nothing. What, Hermione?”

“Sometimes I feel just horrible, just ugly, just like the worst person.”

“You’re not.”

“I’m married, Draco,” she said quietly. “I’m _married_.”

“I know.”

“Then why--?”

“Tell me to stop, and we’ll stop.”

“Do you want to stop?”

“No. But if you do -- if you really do. Tell me. I’ll end it.”

“I love him, I think--”

“You think?”

“I tried to talk to him. He doesn’t listen. Things…They’re not better. I just –

Draco sat up immediately. “Does he hurt you?” he demanded.

“No, no. nothing like that. Calm down, Draco.”

“If he lays hand on you, I will fucking—”

Her hands were on his face and he immediately relaxed at her touch. “I wouldn’t stay if he did. It’s not like that, I promise you.”

“You’re just unhappy,” he spat.

She said nothing to that, but she lowered her eyes. “I don’t know.”

“I want you to be happy, Hermione,” he said softly.

“I’m happy right now.”

 _with me with_ me _?_

“Doesn’t that tell you something?”

“I don’t know. I’ve known Ron since I was eleven years old. He was my best friend. My first – everything, really. I loved him. I _love_ him. We’re married.” Her voice was a choked whisper.

“If you love him, why do you keep meeting with me?” he challenged. He was sick of this – talking about her marriage with the Weasel, while she laid naked in his bed, her eyes black with lust as she fucked him – No. It wasn’t fair. And he was tired.

She froze. “Sometimes, I don’t know.”

“And the other times? What about then?” His anger was rising rapidly, and he could feel the blood begin to bloom high in his cheeks.

“Draco –”

“No, what about the other times? The times when you _do_ know?”

“I just want to see you—” she began.

“—You want to fuck me. You fuck me, and then you complain about your fucking husband while we’re still _fucking naked_ , and then when he fails _again_ , you come to me.”

“That’s not fair.”

“I think you should leave,” he said quietly, rolling away from her to face the wall.

He felt her move from the bed, heard her getting dressed, he even heard her pause, as if she was waiting for him to turn over to look at her. He didn’t. He refused. Eventually, he heard the door to the hotel room shut, and Draco shook slightly as tears leaked from his closed eyes.

**_Room 417:_ **

They stood several feet apart from each other in her hotel room. Draco refused to look her in the eye, and apparently, she wasn’t speaking to him.

Draco didn’t want to be here.

“I wanted to talk to you,” she began, quietly, gently.

“You asked for a bodyguard, and I’m here.”

“Not about that.”

“Am I getting paid for this?”

She paused, a flash of hurt flitted across her beautiful face. “Yes, you’ll be compensated.”

“Great.”

“Draco—”

“Malfoy works, don’t you think, Granger?”

“Stop it.”

Finally, he looked at her. “What, Granger? What do you want from me?”

“I miss you,” she whispered.

“You’re married, remember?” he spat.

“You have a girlfriend.”

“It’s not the same fucking thing, Granger!” He ran his hands through his hair.

He _really_ didn’t want to be here.

“Oh, no?” she taunted. “How is it not the same?”

“If you asked me to break up with her, I’d fucking do it!”

“What?” she asked quietly.

“You fucking heard me.”

“But…why?”

“Damn it, Granger. The last time I saw you I told you I wanted you to be happy. If it would make you happy, I’d do it.”

“Draco—”

“ _Malfoy.”_

“Draco,” she said adamantly, “do you love Astoria?”

 _i love_ you _—_

“No,” he answered simply.

“Then…why?”

“You’re not the only one who gets lonely, Granger.”

“Draco –”

He couldn’t. He couldn’t do this anymore. “Please, stop,” he said quietly. “I can’t anymore. I can’t.”

“Can’t what?”

“I can’t keep doing this with you. You’re married. I have Astoria. I don’t want to do this anymore.”

“Oh,” she replied. Her voice dropped low. Disappointment.

He wanted to kick himself for hurting her.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly.

“Don’t be. I’m married. I’ll just -- I’ll go home to my husband.” She couldn’t hide the sob that escaped her.

Hearing her cry was like being kicked in the gut.

“Leave him.”

“What?” she asked, tears escaping from her eyes.

“Leave him,” Draco repeated.

“And what? Be with you?” she laughed.

A rock settled in his gut. “Is that so ridiculous?”

She looked at him, puzzled, her face red and splotchy with tears. “Is that what you want?”

“I want you, Hermione. I’m sick of the hotel rooms, I’m sick of the sneaking around. I’m sick of seeing you a handful of times a year. I miss you all the fucking time, Hermione. I want you.” He hadn’t meant for the admission to leave his lips, but now it had. He stepped towards and linked his fingers with hers.

“I’m married,” she repeated.

“So leave him,” he begged –

_be with me_

“I can’t.”

He dropped her hands and moved away from her. “I’m done, Granger. Find a new bodyguard. And don’t owl me anymore.”

She buried her head in her hands and let out a choked sob.

Draco turned and walked away, dying inside as he heard her cry.

He opened the door and let himself out without looking back –

_i fucking love you_

Draco wanted to fucking die.

**_Room 607:_ **

It was messy, brutal, rough. He fucked her as if to punish her, slamming into her so hard that even his pleasure mixed with the pain. He was angry, so _fucking_ angry with her –

His handprints were on her arse, bites and angry lovemarks blooming on the hollow of her throat.

His lips were on hers, rough, unyielding, and bruising.

“Draco,” she moaned.

“Shut up,” he growled.

“Don’t hate me. Please don’t hate me.”

He slowed his thrusts. He leaned down and kissed her softly. “I don’t hate you, Hermione. I could never hate you.”

She whimpered and clung to his back. He removed his lips from hers and continued to thrust into her. They came together and clung to each other as they fell asleep. The morning light woke Draco, and he slipped out of her bed before she woke up.

**_2008:_ **

Draco took the job knowing she’d be there. It was a conference on the rights of Veela, so of _course,_ Granger would be there.

His charge was a young half-Veela named Juliette, a young, beautiful girl attempting to achieve a fame similar to that of Celestina Warbeck.

Draco remembered seeing Fleur Delacour for the first time, in his fourth year at Hogwarts. He would have done _anything_ for that girl just to look at him. She was beautiful and he had wanted to taste her – Needless to say, he had been nervous upon discovering his newest employer was a half-Veela.

What was worse? He felt absolutely nothing as he looked at her.

Sure. She was pretty. She flirted with him. He felt _nothing._

But when he saw a flash of curly brown hair out of the corner of his eye, it was like his heart started again.

He just wanted Hermione.

Hermione mounted the stage and made her way to the podium. Her hair was completely straight, which he had never seen before – he longed to run his fingers through it – and she was dressed in an emerald green pant suit

_merlin and circe and –_

She was more beautiful than any Veela.

_\-- and something wasn’t right_

It was the same feeling he had years before – something bad was about to happen.

_Hermione_

Draco didn’t think twice – he abandoned Juliette and made a run for the stage. There were flashes of green light and he could hear screams –

_HERMIONE_

Her wand was out, and she was casting curses, hexes, and protective spells in every direction. He grabbed her arm and apparated them to room 309.

**_Room 309, Part II:_ **

She was sobbing when they landed.

“I’m sorry, Hermione. I’m sorry.”

She pushed him. “I didn’t need _you._ I had a bodyguard. I didn’t need _you.”_

“I know, I know that. But I felt it – something with wrong. I just couldn’t—”

“I don’t _need_ you! I would have been _fine!”_ she screamed, pushing at him.

“I know that, Hermione. I know.”

“Don’t patronize me!” she pushed again.

“I’m not, I’m not! Hermione, goddammit,” he sobbed.

That seemed to sober her a bit. “Why are you crying?” she asked quietly.

“Why? _Why?_ Someone tried to kill you tonight, Hermione, _again,_ and—”

Her hands were soft as they held his face. “Look at me, Draco. _Look at me._ I’m right here, I’m fine.”

Draco closed his eyes and bit his lip, nodding. He slid his hands up her forearms, comforting himself with her presence, her touch. “I know, Hermione. I know. But—”

“No. No buts.”

Draco opened his eyes and nodded once more. He rested his forehead against hers. “Are you all right?”

“I’m ok, Draco.”

He let out a shaky breath. “We can’t stay here. This isn’t my room, just the first place I thought of.”

For the first time, Hermione looked around the room. “Where are we?”

“The first room.”

“Oh, the room where we woke up naked with zero memory of what happened?”

“That’d be the one, my beautiful swot.”

“Lovely, just lovely, Draco,” she said, with a light swat at his arm. She looked back to him, worrying her lower between her teeth. “I don’t—I don’t want to be alone tonight.”

“Then you won’t. You won’t.”

_i’ll never let you be alone_

**_Room 1115:_ **

For the first time, Draco felt like they made love instead of just having fucked. It was a subtle difference, really. There was need, there was passion – of course, there always was – but there was something else, something that flickered and crackled between them as she dug her nails into his shoulder, as he wrapped an arm around her waist, to pull her closer, always _closer._ It was in the look in her eyes, too, filled with lust, but the hard edge that normally accompanied her pupils, blown wide with desire was softer, somehow, because there was something – just something – that was just _different._

She was quiet when she came, which was different, too. Instead of the normal moans he elicited from her, her body simply tightened around his as she shuddered in his arms, her head buried in his neck, her nails pressing so deeply into the skin of his shoulder that he knew she’d drawn blood, but he didn’t care. He simply clung to her as she did him. He followed behind her shortly, gasping her name quietly as she held him: “ _Hermione_.”

They didn’t move for several movements. They stayed that way, so utterly entwined with each other that it felt as if their bodies had fused together – a mixture of blood, and sweat, and fear, and—

_love_

“Are you ok?” he whispered, as they continued to cling to each other, their breathing still labored.

“Yes. Just—Just don’t let go.”

“I won’t.” The last thing he _ever_ wanted to do was let her go. He lowered them onto the bed, keeping his arms firmly wrapped around her. She sighed and settled into him and they drifted off to sleep, thoroughly exhausted.

Draco woke first, as the first rays of sunshine came streaming into the sparse hotel room. He was warm, and cozy, and the leg that was firmly nestled between his own assured him that she was still there. She had _stayed._ He loved when she stayed, as infrequently as that may have been. He gently pressed a kiss into her hair, unwilling to wake her, but _fuck_ he just needed to touch her, to feel that she was real, that she was still _here._

She grumbled and rolled away from him, the light of the morning sun catching the diamond she wore on her left finger, throwing glowing rays against the white-washed walls of the hotel. Draco frowned; the moment shattered.

A light tapping at the window caught his attention, and he gently rose from the bed. His owl, Noctua, was there, holding a copy of The Prophet in his sharpened talons. Draco cracked the window and took the paper from the regal owl. “Thanks, boy. Sorry, I don’t have any treats for you here,” he said in response to Noctua’s demanding peck at his fingers. Noctua gave his master a disdainful hoot before taking flight once more. Draco closed the window and looked at The Prophet. His stomach bottomed-out at the headline: _Death Eater Attack at Conference for the Welfare of Magical Creatures. Golden Girl Missing._

_fuck_

Draco ran his hand through his hair. _fuck fuck fuck fuck._

“Draco?” she asked for him, her voice still sleepy, but sounding slightly panicked.

She thought he had left her.

“I’m right here,” he said, walking back towards the bed.

She smiled sleepily as soon as she saw him. “What’s that?” she asked, seeing The Prophet crumpled in his hands.

“The Prophet,” he said dismally. “You should go. Everyone thinks you’re missing. Which, I guess, technically, you are, since I’m the only one who knows where you are.”

Her amber eyes widened. “Oh, no. Oh _no!”_ She scrambled from the bed, haphazardly tugging on her clothes which had been strewn across the floor. “Ronald probably thinks I’m dead, and Harry – ! Oh no, this is bad. Very bad. Why didn’t I – Why didn’t I just stop a think for one _bloody_ moment?”

“Hermione.”

“—so irresponsible of me, honestly!”

“Hermione!”

She stopped ranting to herself and turned to him. “What?” she snapped.

“I left Astoria,” he said simply.

“What?”

Draco shrugged at her. “I left Astoria. Couple of months ago.”

“What? Why? I didn’t ask you—”

“I know.”

“What do you expect me to say?”

Draco shrugged. “I don’t know. I just wanted to tell you.”

“I—I have to go, Draco. You understand, don’t you?” she asked, silently pleading with him.

“Yes, I do.”

“I’ll owl you? Later this week?”

“You do that, Hermione.”

She seemed hurt by his tone, but Draco couldn’t help it. He had mentally detached at the first mention of Weasley, and it was simple – the situation was what it was. She was running back to her husband after they had made love – and that’s what it was, Draco knew, there was no way denying that it was anything else but that – and Draco needed to close off, to shut down. He told her about Astoria, just to see if made any difference, and _fuck,_ he wanted it to make a difference, he wanted it to change things, change _everything._

But it didn’t. She was leaving him, again.

**_Room 1812:_ **

“What’s it like being single?”

He snorted and rolled to face her. “I don’t really consider myself single, you know.”

“Oh, did you get back together with her?”

“Don’t play dumb with me, Granger. You know perfectly well what I’m referring to.”

“Draco—”

“I know. You don’t have to say it.”

She closed her mouth and nodded solemnly.

“I love you,” he said it quietly, so quietly he was afraid she wouldn’t have heard him.

“I know.”

His heart dropped. “Oh.”

“I love you, too,” she said softly.

Draco sidled closer to her, pressing his forehead against hers where it laid on the pillow, her curls fanned around her. “Do you?” he asked.

“Yes,” she breathed. “I do.”

_more than you love Weasley?_

He couldn’t ask, he wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer. Instead he kissed her, softly, gently, savoring the way her lips felt on his, the taste of her lips, the tip of her tongue, the way it felt running across his bottom lip, begging him to open up to her.

_i love you so fucking much_

Draco deepened the kiss. Every time felt like it could be the last time with her, that one day he would wake up, and she’d be gone – and this time there would be no more owls – she would just disappear in the light of morning, disappear from his life for all eternity, leaving him alone and empty, a hollow, bitter man with a great chasm deep inside his chest. So, he opened up for her, allowing her to take whatever it was she wanted from him, giving her everything he could, anything she would take in return. “I love you,” he whispered against her lips, gasping as he slid once more inside of her.

She moaned as he filled her, a small breathy noise that tickled his chin. “Show me,” she breathed once he was fully sheathed inside of her.

He moved within her slowly, tenderly, wanting this to last – because what if it truly _was_ the last time? She wrapped her legs around waist, pulling him deeper into her. She threw her arms around his neck, pulling him down to her. “I love you.” Her nails dug into his back, silently begging him for more, so he obliged and sped up the roll of his hips and the intensity of his thrusts.

“Draco,” she cried out in a clear appreciation at his change in tempo.

“Say it,” he demanded as he ground himself against. “Say it again.”

“I love you, Draco.”

Draco groaned, her words stroking something deep inside of him, something that stoked the flames of his lust -- already in danger of burning out of control, threatening to raze the deepest part of him – his emotions, his soul, his love. Her words had him rocketing towards his orgasm, but he bit the inside of his cheek, hard, to check himself, to regain his control. She had to come first, he always had to make her come first.

He looked down at her, her golden body covered in a soft sheen of sweat as she met his every thrust. Her pants were getting quicker, her moans louder, and her eyes were beginning to glaze over with pleasure as she stared at the place where their bodies met, watching as he thrust deeply inside of her. The image of her watching him inside of her was so incredibly erotic that he felt himself quickly losing his control again. “Are you close? Tell me you’re close,” he groaned.

“Yes, yes,” she whimpered, “I’m close, Draco. I’m so close,” she moaned back.

“What do you need? Tell me, I’ll do it. Want you—want you to come for me.”

“Just keep doing – _oh –_ that. Touch me,” she begged.

He kissed her roughly, wanting to swallow her moans, her breath, her fucking _life force._ His hand slid down her body as his fingers sought the most sensitive piece of her. He found it immediately, and she moaned appreciatively. He rubbed quick circles around the swollen nub, the movements of her hips becoming quicker and more erratic, and then she was gasping in his ear, a long low moan wrenched from her throat as she stiffened and tightened around him. A singular thrust and he, too, was bursting, white lights exploding behind his eyes as he buried himself as deeply as he could and stilled, spurting himself inside of her.

Draco collapsed on top of her, the force of his orgasm leaving him weak and boneless. He made to roll off of her, afraid he would crush her, but she wrapped her arms around him forcefully, holding him tightly in place on top of her. Gods, it felt so good to be wrapped in Hermione Granger’s arms.

When their breathing finally slowed, she loosened her hold on him and rolled off of her, settling next to her and pulling her back into his arms. They were sweaty and sticky with their lovemaking, but he didn’t care. He just wanted to hold her until she’d no longer let him.

“I think about it sometimes,” she whispered after a few moments of silence.

Draco pushed an errant curl out of her face, tucking it gently behind her ear. “Think about what?”

“Us.” Her voice was so soft, so timid, like she was a lost little girl and not the most brilliant, ambitious witch he had ever met.

“What about us?”

“What it would be like,” she whispered. “You, and me. Sometimes—I think about it sometimes. Do you?”

He kissed her forehead. “All the fucking time, Hermione.”

She nestled closer to him, seemingly comforted by his admission. “What’s it like? When you imagine it?”

His heart was beating so hard in his chest he was afraid it was about to burst clear through his ribcage. He was sure Hermione could hear it. In confirmation, she laid her palm against his chest where his heart was. “It’s nice. It’s peaceful, and we’re happy. We have a little house out in the country—”

“I would hardly describe Malfoy Manor as a ‘little house,’” she interrupted.

“It’s not Malfoy Manor, now hush. As I was saying before I was so _rudely_ interrupted: We have a little house out in the country, surrounded by gardens. I sit on the porch, and watch you, trying to garden but killing everything you touch, because, let’s face it, Granger, you are no Green Thumb. So, I watch as you _try_ to garden, while the house elves _truly_ tend to the gardens—”

“House elves? _Really?”_ she interrupted once more, looking incensed.

He ran his hand comfortingly down her arm. “Yes, yes, S.P.E.W. and all that. They’d be free house elves, of course—”

“ _Why_ would we have house elves at all?”

Draco chuckled and pressed a kiss against her lips. “My beautiful witch, my proud protector of the perpetually persecuted.” Another kiss. “I had my own house elf when I was growing up, Jinxy. She practically raised me, and I am quite fond her. I freed her years ago, and she threatened to drown herself if I sent her away. Now, as I am quite attached to that little elf, I couldn’t let that happen. So, she continues to work for me -- she has quite the extensive collection of pillowcases and I pay her a fair wage.”

“Well,” she began, seemingly at a loss for words. “Well, I suppose that that’s quite all right, then.”

“Oh, yeah?” he asked her with a mischievous grin. “Is it quite all right, Ms. Granger?”

Hermione rolled her eyes at him. “Yes, it’s fine. I wouldn’t want her to drown herself. Now, continue!”

Draco lightly gripped her arse. “Oh, I like it when you’re bossy, Ms. Granger.”

She swatted his hand away. “I’m serious, tell me more,” her tone was softer now, pleading.

He relented, of course. “You’d continue to slave away as the champion of rights for any and all magical creatures – Grindylows included, even though, Granger, if I’m being perfectly honest with you, that one was a bit of a lost cause—” She began to interrupt, but Draco gently pressed a finger to her lips. “You’d work too hard, and you’d come home late, and we’d argue. I’d demand you be home at 5, and you’d argue for 7, but ultimately, we’d compromise at 6, which I would hold you to. You’d come home, and I’d make you dinner.”

“You’d make me dinner?” she asked quietly.

“Don’t look so surprised, I happen to be a perfectly adequate cook. Anyways, when I imagine it -- I just imagine us having a whole life together. The fights, the compromises, the dirty make-up sex -- all of it. I’m not delusional, Hermione. I know we wouldn’t be perfect. But I can _see_ it.”

“It’s getting harder,” she said sadly.

“What is?”

“Leaving. Going home. Going back to Ronald. I feel like I’m living someone else’s life sometimes, and I’m just watching myself from afar, like I’m just going through the motions.”

“I feel like a limb is being forcefully being ripped from my body every time you walk away from me,” he replied honestly.

“Then why? Why do you keep doing this if it hurts you so much?”

He shrugged. “The alternative is worse.”

She gave him a disbelieving look. “I doubt that.”

Draco propped himself up on his elbow so that he could look down at her. He ran a finger delicately along her jaw. “You don’t understand just how in love with you I am, Hermione.”

Her breath caught in her throat. “I have an idea.” Tears welled in her eyes, but she refused to allow them to fall. He said nothing – he knew they weren’t meant for him.

When they parted, as they inevitably had to do, she held him a bit tighter, for a little bit longer, and with a bit more desperation. It was this final embrace that finally gave Draco even the smallest bit of hope that maybe – _just maybe –_ he was not doomed, that _they_ were not doomed.

And he’d cling to her embrace, cling to this sliver of hope with everything that he had.


	2. II

**II** **  
**

**_2008:_ **

**_Room 1743:_ **

Hermione’s fingers were tracing some undecipherable pattern on the skin of his naked abdomen, light and teasing as they dropped low, over the fine hair curled between his hips, then drifting higher once more to skate against the raised skin of his _S_ _ectumsempra_ scars, and then finally, brushing ever so lightly over a nipple that pebbled at her touch. She repeated this pattern several times before she finally spoke: “Do you ever think about the first time? I mean, do you remember any of it?”

Draco thought for a moment before answering. “Bits and pieces. Sometimes there are flashes. Why? Do you remember it?”

“No, it’s the same for me. Bits and pieces. I’ve just been wondering what _happened._ I mean, we _hated_ each other. I just wonder—what led to us ending up in bed together.”

Draco began to trace his own pattern on her naked shoulder. “I think that our undeniable sexual chemistry had something to do with it,” he teased as he formed a _D_ against her collarbone, followed by an _R_ on the dip of her throat—

_mine_

She crawled up onto his naked chest and searched his eyes. She sighed. “Well, yes, of course. But there had to have been something else, right?”

Draco shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not.” _A_ on her shoulder, _C_ at the swell of her breast.

“There had to have been something else,” she insisted. “I mean, I’ve never—”

Draco ceased the ministrations just as he got to _O_. “Never what, Granger?”

She looked at him bashfully. “I’d never had a one-night stand before.”

Draco grinned wolfishly back at her. “Ah, well, I hate to break it to you, Granger, but this has been going on for a few years now.”

She rolled her eyes and swatted his chest playfully. “You know what I meant. It _was_ a one-night stand. At the time.” She paused for a moment and then began to speak again, “Why do you sometimes call me ‘Granger’ and sometimes you call me ‘Hermione?’”

Draco smiled at her, before pushing a curl out of her face and then gently cupping her cheek. “What is going on in that pretty little head of yours?”

“Just thinking,” she muttered.

“I know you are. Talk to me.”

“I just wonder—if I remembered what happened, maybe things would be different,” she offered.

“How do you mean?”

“Like if there was an event, a specific moment in time where everything just _changed –_ a cosmological event, if you will – maybe, I don’t know, things would be different. Maybe we had that cosmological event that first night and we don’t even _remember_ it. I can’t help feeling like I missed something major—and now—”

Draco frowned at her. “Hermione—”

“What if it’s gone and we can’t get it back, Draco? What if there was something, that night, that told me I shouldn’t be with Ron, shouldn’t marry Ron – What if there was something, something that would make so that I should be with you? That I’d be with you right now? Don’t you ever wonder?”

She was upset now, and he wrapped his arms around her waist as she laid on him. “You mean a sign from the universe? Please, if Merlin himself rose from the dead and told you that you belonged with me, you would argue the man back to death and into his grave,” he replied in an attempt to lighten the mood. “Besides, you _are_ with me right now.”

“I’m serious, Draco.” Her voice trembled, as if she were on the verge of tears.

“Hey, Hermione—”

“What if I messed everything up?” Now she _was_ crying.

Draco wiped the tears from her eyes as they fell. “You didn’t screw anything up, my love, you hear me?”

“Everything _feels_ screwed up,” she whispered, leaning into his hand.

“All of this can be fixed, Hermione.”

“Do you really believe that, Draco. Do you really?”

“Yes, I do,” he affirmed.

“If I left him?” she asked.

“Would certainly be a start,” he answered gruffly.

“It’s not as easy as you always make it sound, Draco,” she said softly.

“I know that, Hermione. I know that. I just—I want to be with you, for real. Not like this. Not anymore.”

“I know I’m not being fair to you; I know that. You’ve been so patient with me, and sometimes I don’t even feel like I deserve you, because _look_ what I’m doing to you—”

“Don’t, Hermione. Don’t you dare go down that road. I told you that the alternative to this is far worse, and that still stands.”

“But it won’t always, will it?” she asked.

“I can’t answer that, Hermione. You know that I can’t,” he sighed.

Hermione frowned. “I already know the answer. I’m just asking you—I need a little more time. I will figure this out, I will. Draco,” she began, running her fingers lightly over his face. “can you wait just a little bit longer?”

He nodded into her hand.

Yes, he could wait just a little bit longer.

 **_2009:_ **

**_Room 3815:_ **

They sat at the little table overlooking the street, wrapped in the white fluffy robes of the hotel, freshly out of the shower. Hermione’s damp hair was just beginning to curl at her shoulders as she popped a bite of crepe into her mouth.

Draco popped the cork on the overpriced bottle of Champagne that they had ordered from room service and poured Hermione a glass. “A toast?” he asked.

She swallowed her crepe and raised her glass to his. “To what are we toasting?”

“The New Year, of course.”

“To the New Year, then.” She grinned and clinked her flute with his before taking another bite of crepe.

“Granger, that’s desert – we have lobster, you know.”

“Of course we do. Did you purposefully order the most expensive things on the menu or are you just that much a snob?” she asked with a roll of her eyes.

Draco took a thoughtful sip of Champagne. “A little bit of both, if I’m being honest. And, in addition to those first two points, I did want to spoil you a bit.”

She flushed. “You did?”

“Don’t look so surprised, Hermione. I managed to get a holiday with you, so yes, I thought I could be a little bit more exorbitant than normal with the room service.” A dark look passed over his face. “Where does he think you are, anyways?” he tried to ask nonchalantly, and failing.

“He thinks I’m with my parents,” she answered back coolly, taking a bite of her lobster tail, and a dainty sip of Champagne.

Draco furrowed his brow. “You don’t speak to your parents.”

“Yes, well. You know that—” she began bitterly.

“And he doesn’t?” he finished incredulously. Draco ran a hand over his face, suddenly exasperated. “Hermione—”

“I know, Draco. I know. Can we just—Can we not tonight? I want to be with you, and I don’t want to argue tonight, ok?” she asked in a small voice.

He dropped to his knees in front of her and ran his hands over her partially covered thighs. “We won’t fight, I promise. Not tonight.” He smiled at her. “Today’s a good day. Now, hurry up and eat so we can finish this bottle of wine in bed,” he finished with a mischievous smirk.

“Drunk sex?”

He nodded and stood, pressing a kiss to her forehead on the way up. “Yes, drunk sex.”

She popped a bit of lobster in her mouth and took a large sip of champagne with a mischevious look in her eye. “I want to be on top.”

 **_Room 757:_ **

“How many kids do you want?” Hermione asked as they laid together on their backs, staring up at the ceiling, her wild her curls spread across his chest.

“I hated being an only child. So, I’d want at least two,” he answered easily.

“At least?”

He shrugged. “Never thought about more, but I certainly don’t want less. I would want my kids to grow up with a sibling.”

“Me, too,” she whispered. “Being an only child was really hard for me. It didn’t help that I was an insufferable bookworm even as a child, and everyone thought that I was a freak. At least magic explained that last bit.” Hermione wrinkled her nose in distaste.

“Why are we talking about this?” Draco asked, his voice suddenly cold.

_please no_

“I’m just curious, Draco. I’m not—I didn’t—” she trailed off.

He relaxed slightly beneath her, but he was still tense, and he knew that she had to feel it, their bodies were so attuned to each other. It was a long time before he spoke again. “That would be the worst thing, Hermione.”

She turned to look at him. “Me getting pregnant?” she asked quietly.

“No. If you—with him. It would be the worst thing.” He felt like he was dying inside, because for all he knew it was a complete and utter possibility, and just the thought had him crumbling, quickly.

Hermione seemed to sense this, as she rolled so she was sprawled across him and wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing him tenderly. “I’m not, Draco. I promise. It’s not a possibility.”

He felt his hands tremble as he reached for her hair, pulling it away from her face and over her shoulder. “Just the idea—”

She kissed him again. “I know, I know. I’m sorry.”

“Have you ever talked about kids with him?”

“A few times, years ago. Before we got married. Vaguely since then. He doesn’t really want them, having grown up in such a big family, you know. I’ve always been of the mind that I could get on with or without them.”

“If he had wanted them—?”

Hermione ran a hand through his hair, still slightly damp from their earlier lovemaking. “I don’t know, Draco. You’re doing what you always tell me no to do: spiraling, asking questions that can’t possibly be answered.”

“I know I just—Hermione, I don’t ask you for much. But I’m going to ask you this one thing: Please, don’t have a baby with him,” he pleaded with her.

Her arms around his neck tightened and she buried her head against his shoulder, pressing soft kisses to his neck. “I won’t, Draco, I won’t. I promise you.”

 **_Room 1055:_ **

“He’s here, Draco,” Hermione started as soon as she stepped over the threshold of the room.

“What?” he asked dumbly.

“Ron. He’s here. He’s in the hotel.”

“Why? I thought—”

“Yes, I know. I know we made plans for this weekend. But I didn’t realize it was our anniversary, and he wanted to surprise me because he knew the conference was in Paris, and he knows how much I love Paris—”

“That’s why I chose it,” Draco said dully.

“He doesn’t know they don’t let me go to the actual conferences anymore, after last time,” she said, a small flash of guilt crossing her face.

There _was_ a conference. She had just never planned on going.

“So what do you want me to do?” he asked. He felt like he was about to cry. It had been months since he had last seen her, and he missed her desperately. Just knowing he was going to see her, that he would get to hold her – it had kept him going for weeks, and now—

 _this fucking hurts_

“I can’t stay, Draco,” she replied.

It was clear that she was trying to apologize, but he didn’t care. He was numb, and cold, and the only thing he wanted was for Hermione to wrap her arms around him and tell him that she’d stay with him – that she chose _him._

But no such declaration came. She simply stood in front of him, watching him, worrying her lower lip between her teeth.

“Ok,” he finally said. He felt hollow, and completely detached, like his voice was coming from someone else. 

She reached out for him, but he jerked away. “Draco—”

“Go. Just go.”

She looked hurt, but it couldn’t compare to the pain he felt in that moment. He turned away from her before he did something stupid, like break down at her feet, begging her to stay with him —or press her up against the wall and fuck her up against it, possessively, because gods dammit she was _his,_ not Weasley’s – _his._

Hermione had to know that his self-control was crumbling, because she didn’t argue, and he heard the soft click of the door as she left.

As soon as she was gone, he began to cry.

The nightmares came that night, as they always did when she wasn’t curled around him.

It was Charity Burbage again, already dead on the long dining room table in front of him. Nagini was on top of her, ripping at her throat, the sickening sounds of skin ripping, and bones crunching filled the room as the monstrous creature feasted on the dead teacher. He felt nauseous, he needed to Occlude, he was going to be so sick—

It was the screaming that woke him. It took him a moment to realize that _he_ had been the one screaming. He wiped the sweat from his brow, and the tears from his eyes as he sat up and cast a brief _lumos_ with his wand—just to ensure that he was truly alone, and hat Nagini hadn’t burst forth from his mind, his memories, and into the hotel room. Satisfied that there was no snake, he dimmed his wand and laid back down, certain that he was in for a rough night, if he even managed to make it back to sleep at all.

He had just closed his eyes in a feeble attempt at sleep when he heard it: a light rapping at his door. Of course, he had probably woken up another guest with his screaming. He pulled on a t-shirt with a sigh and padded over to door. He opened it, prepared to issue an apology, but it wasn’t hotel staff on the other side of the door – It was Hermione.

_Hermione_

Her eyes scanned his face quickly, taking in the flush of his skin, the sweat still clinging to the roots of his hair, and the dark circles that rimmed his eyes, and she immediately pushed her way inside. Her hands were cupping his face and she pulled him into her. “Draco, are you all right?” she asked quietly, her voice full of concern.

“Why are you here?” he asked, ignoring her question.

“I was worried,” she replied breathlessly. “Draco, are you ok?”

He drooped his head in defeat, her hands still gently holding his face. “No,” he murmured.

She immediately wrapped her arms around him, and he sagged into her, grateful. “What’s happened?”

“I have nightmares when you aren’t there,” he said quietly. He had never told her before. He had never told _anyone_ before. But he was tired, and emotionally exhausted, and so, _so_ tired of fighting by himself.

“You have nightmares?” she asked softly.

He nodded against her frame. “Almost every night.”

“I’ve never—”

“I’ve never had one when I’ve been with you,” he interrupted.

“Oh, Draco.” She held him tighter. “About what?”

“Do you remember Professor Burbage?”

She pulled away from him slightly with a frown. “Yes, I do. She disappeared. No one ever found out what happened to her.”

Draco shook his head. “She’s dead. He killed her—and—and the snake, Nagini, she ate her—right in front of me.” He shuddered against her, and suddenly fat, wet tears were slipping out of his eyes and down his face, and she was kissing him, kissing away the tears, whispering his name over and over again.

He pulled away from her, wiping at his face. “You should go. He’ll begin to wonder.”

She frowned at him and reached out for him. This time he didn’t push her away but allowed her to take his hand and twine her fingers with his. “I don’t want to leave you,” she said softly. “Not like this.”

Draco nodded, knowing that she was telling him the truth. But they didn’t have a choice – not tonight. “You need to go back, Hermione.”

She dropped his fingers, and looked away from him, clearly on the verge of tears herself.

He didn’t want her to misunderstand his meaning, so he stepped towards her and wrapped his arms around her. “Not tonight, Hermione. Not like this. Not when we’re both upset. You know I’m right.”

Hermione nodded into his chest, but he heard the muffled “I love you.”

“And you know I love you,” he replied.

She gave a watery smile before she turned and left him, for the second time in a day.

 **_Room 914:_ **

“How much more time could you possibly need, Hermione?” Draco seethed at her.

“Draco—”

“No! Tell me. How much more time?”

“I don’t know, Draco!”

“Do you know what you do every _single_ time you tell me you need more time? Do you fucking know?”

“No, Draco, but I’m sure you’re going to tell me!”

“Every time that you tell me you need more time—you take more time away from me. I’ve waited for you for years and you still need _more_ time. Do you ever even think about the weeks, the months, the years you’ve fucking taken from me—from _us_? The time I could’ve had with you—it’s gone. The time we could’ve had together—It’s just fucking gone.”

“You didn’t have to stay! You could’ve left!” Her eyes were full of tears now.

He crossed the room to stand before her, before dropping to his knees and grasping her chin gently in his hand. “See, that’s the other part you don’t understand, Hermione. I couldn’t leave. I never could.”

“I don’t know what you want from me, Draco,” she cried.

“Yes, you do. I want you, Hermione. Just you. I want a life with you. You _know_ this. I’ve told you this before. Why do you keep saying you need more time? Do you not want those things with me?”

She sobbed, “I do, I’m just—I’m scared, Draco.”

“Of what?” he asked gently. “Tell me what you’re afraid of.”

“They’ll hate me,” she said quietly. “The Weasleys, all of them. They’ve been like a family to me for so long—but—” she hiccupped, “they won’t forgive this. This will be unforgiveable to all of them. And then Harry, that’s his best friend, and I just—he’ll hate me too—”

“Potter won’t hate you, Hermione. You know that.”

“And you,” she sobbed again.

“Me?”

“I’m afraid that I won’t be enough for you outside of this – the hotels, and the sneaking around, and no one knowing about us. It would change us, Draco.”

“Not enough for me, Hermione?” he asked incredulously. “I don’t want the hotels and the sneaking around. I want to be boring with you, Granger.” He flashed a smirk at her. He just wanted her to smile at him again.

“You say that now.”

“I know what I want, Hermione. I have for a while now. I’m not going to change my mind. And as for the Weasleys – you can’t live your life based on what they want. You’re unhappy, I know you are. If they love you, they’ll want you to be happy. And if they don’t get it, then—just—fuck them. I’ll be your family,” he said fiercely.

She flashed a weak smile at him then. “You are wonderful, you know that?”

“Questionable, my love.”

“No, you really are. No one’s ever treated me like you do,” she said quietly.

“You are the only good thing in my life. I would be foolish to fuck it up.” He took her fingers and began to play with them. “Please leave him, Hermione.”

She nodded solemnly. “Ok,” she said quietly.

“Ok?” he asked. His heart was soaring in his chest.

“You’re right. I know you are. About everything. I want to be with you, too, Draco. I really do.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes. I’ll tell him tomorrow.”

“Will you tell him about me?” he asked uncertainly.

“I don’t know, Draco. It depends.”

He nodded, understanding. “I love you, Hermione. I know I don’t say it enough.”

“I love you, Draco.”

 **_Room 846:_ **

“You told me you were going to tell him!” Draco shouted.

“I know, and I tried!”

“You _tried_? How do you _try_ to tell someone you want a divorce? You either tell them or you fucking don’t, and clearly you _didn’t._ ”

“I tried—he wouldn’t let me speak, it’s like he knew what was coming—”

“Wouldn’t let you speak, what are you, a church mouse? Speak up for yourself, tell him what you want!”

Hermione began to cry in earnest.

“Hermione, don’t cry,” he pleaded.

“This is my _life_ you are encouraging me to blow up, Draco! Mine, _not yours,_ so don’t be so quick—”

“You’re right, Hermione. It’s your life. I don’t fucking _have_ one. All I have is _you,_ and even then, just barely,” he scoffed.

“Don’t you dare put that on me, Draco Malfoy! Don’t you _dare!”_

He looked at her then, tears streaming down her face, her cheeks splotchy and red, and he hated himself for making her cry. She was right, in a way—he _was_ asking her to give up her whole life for _him._ And he didn’t even deserve her. He had nothing to offer her—just his overflowing vaults at Gringotts and an ancient family name that had been completely tarnished, and he was not foolish enough to think she cared about either one of those things. He, in no way, shape, or form deserved the beautiful woman who was now crying because of him. He sobered instantly. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry, too.”

He tilted his head and looked at her fully. “This is all we’re ever going to be, isn’t it?”

“No,” she sobbed. “I want more, too!”

“I don’t want to wait anymore,” he replied sadly. 

She began to cry even harder at that. “Draco, please—”

“I’m going to go home, Hermione. I don’t want to be here right now. I want to be alone. I need to think seriously about some things.”

“Don’t go. Please don’t go,” she sobbed.

He shook his head. “I just need to be alone right now, ok?”

Hermione wiped furiously at her tears and nodded curtly at him. “Ok,” she whispered. “Will you owl me?’

 _no because this just hurts too much_

“Yes,” he said simply. “In a few days.”

Draco walked over to her and kissed her gently on the cheek, lingering for a moment longer than usual. Then he turned, walked out the door, and left her alone.

 **_Room 859:_ **

Hotel rooms still reminded him of her. They probably always would.

The thought hurt. His heart hurt. It had for months. He knew that it would hurt, that last time he had walked away from her. What he hadn’t counted on was the intensity of the hurt, and how long it would last.

_forever_

No. Every day, it was the same stabbing, searing pain in his gut when he awoke, finding himself alone, his bed empty. He was afraid it would never stop hurting like this.

He was also afraid it would stop hurting. He didn’t want it to be over. The last thing he wanted was for it to be over.

He had walked away, though, all those months ago. He had told her he would owl. He had started a few letters, but his words never seemed sufficient. He never truly knew what to say, and truly, how could he put his true feelings on an insignificant piece of parchment? His love, his pain, his all-consuming need for her, the fracturing of his heart—how could he write those things down?

Draco wanted her; he knew that with absolute certainty. He wanted every piece of her, and he wanted her forever.

And Hermione, well—Hermione was confused. He didn’t doubt her feelings for him; he knew she loved him, knew that for an absolute fact. What Draco didn’t know for a fact were her feelings for Weasley. He knew she wasn’t happy; he had known that for a while. But did she still love _him_?

Draco didn’t know. The thought that she might made him nauseous. The thought that she very well may still love her husband had started to poison him, and in turn, them. Every conversation they had, every kiss, every gasp, every time their bare skin touched—the poison was there, flowing in the empty spaces between their bodies, and his heart had started to break.

She had asked him before, would the alternative always be better than what they had—hiding themselves, and their love, away in hotel rooms, never to be seen by the outside world? The truth was that Draco had reached his limit—he had finally broken. He had to have her fully, or he had to walk away.

So he had walked away.

Waking up alone was always hard, because he always wanted to wake up to her—always. Her wild curly hair, strewn across his chest in sleep. The way she hogged the covers when it was cold. The way she always slept with one foot peeking out from beneath the comforter. He wanted to wake up to that every day.

Waking up in the hotel rooms was harder, though. At least at home he could console himself with the fact that she _never_ woke up in his bed. The hotels, though, sometimes she was there.

He laid awake for a long time that night, staring out the window by the bed as he watched the city below grow sleepy before the air grew quiet, and the streets finally gave into slumber. Draco desperately wished he could do the same, but his head was too full of Hermione.

He wondered where she was, if she was all right. If she was thinking about him, too. He wondered if she missed him.

Gods, he missed her so much.

 **_2010:_ **

**_Room 5250:_ **

He was surprised that night when there was a knock at his door. It had been a long day of guarding a paranoid member of the Ministry, and he all wanted to do was knock back too much firewhiskey and pass out in his bed.

He had expected his employer—perhaps he was needed to check for a basilisk in the closet, or an acromantula under the bed. But no, _no_. It was Hermione Granger. He couldn’t speak as she stood before him, dressed neatly in a blazer and a knee-length skirt, looking every bit the polished Ministry worker that he knew she was.

“Draco? Can I come in?”

Draco couldn’t speak, he simply opened the door wider and ushered her inside.

Her hair was shorter now, and she seemed thinner than the last time he had seen her. She was paler than he had ever seen her and there was a slight tremble to her whole frame. “You never owled me,” she said quietly.

Draco nodded. “I didn’t know what to say. I told you that I didn’t want to wait anymore, that wasn’t a lie.”

“So, you just left me?” she asked coldly.

He let out a deep sigh. “It wasn’t my intention. I just—Fuck, Hermione. My heart was breaking. Every time I saw you. It just started to hurt too much.”

She nodded solemnly, as if the thought had already occurred to her. “I miss you,” she said quietly.

“Gods, Granger,” he breathed out. “You have no fucking idea how much I miss you. Sometimes I can’t breathe I miss you so much.”

“So you haven’t forgotten about me?” she asked hopefully.

“I think about you every fucking day,” he replied with a sad smile.

“Do you ever think about that little house in the country? Where I kill everything I touch, and your house elf has to fix my mistakes, so she doesn’t run off and drown herself?”

Draco frowned. “I do. Less now.”

“Less?”

He nodded. “It seems so far away now. It didn’t use to feel that way. It used to feel like if I just reached out a bit farther, I could grasp it and it would be mine.” Draco shrugged. “Maybe I’ve just stopped deluding myself.”

Hermione crossed her arms and looked away from him. “So that’s it? We’re just done?” Her voice cracked.

“That’s always been up to you, Hermione,” he said calmly.

“Even now? Even after all these months?”

Draco ran his hand through his hair in exasperation. “Yes.”

“Do you still want me?”

“Yes,” he whispered, “more than anything.”

She stood straighter and turned to face him fully. Before he even knew what was happening, she was in his lap, her legs straddling him, her fingers pressed into the bones of shoulder. “Draco,” she whispered. “Draco.” She gently kissed him on each cheek, his forehead, his chin, and then finally— _finally_ , her lips were on his, and they were just as sweet and soft as he remembered. She kissed him slowly, like she was trying to savor him, savor _this—_ and he was kissing her back, intensely, fiercely because gods, it had been too long since he’d felt her skin, felt her against him, next to him, _on_ him. “ _Draco.”_

“Hermione,” he gasped.

Hermione removed her hands from his shoulders and shrugged her blazer off, then pulled her jumper over her head, tossing it carelessly across the room. Then her arms were around his neck and her lips returned to his. It was desperate now, and frenzied, she was begging for him and he was afraid she would explode in her need for him. “Touch me,” she begged against his lips. “Please.”

He knew this was probably a bad idea—he _knew_ that. But he couldn’t deny her, not ever, especially not when she was begging him. Draco found the bottom of her thin white camisole and pulled it over her head. It was still in flight as his fingers found the closure of her bra, which he unclasped with deft fingers, baring her naked chest to him. His fingers quickly found her nipples, which were already hardened with arousal, and he gently swirled the pads of his fingers over them. Hermione groaned and threw back her head slightly.

“More,” she gasped as she tugged his own jumper from his body and pressed her naked chest into his own.

He groaned as he felt her skin against him for the first time in so, so long. And gods, it felt _good._ Draco tugged at the button of her skirt. “Take this off,” he growled against her throat.

Hermione stood and watched him with an animalistic glint in her eye as she removed her low heels before slowly sliding her skirt down her legs, tossing it to the side. She stood before him only in her knickers and she smirked at him.

_tease_

“Come here,” Draco said hoarsely.

She straddled him slowly and rolled her hips once, twice, against his hardness. She was kissing his neck, nipping at his skin, sucking lightly on his pulse point and he gasped. This was too much, too _fucking_ much.

He grabbed her arse and pressed her against him, lifting her as he stood, and she was wrapping her legs around his waist. He kissed her as he carried her, and then he tossed her onto the bed. She bounced slightly and smiled up at him before she sat up and began to fumble with the buckle of his belt, and then the button of his trousers. She pushed them down and ordered him: “Off.” Draco obliged and slid his trousers down his hips, stepping out of them.

Her hand was inside of his boxers, wrapped around his hardness, within moments. “Oh, god, Hermione,” he gasped as he involuntarily thrust himself into her hand. She began to stroke him deftly, but he placed his hand around her wrist, pulling it away. “It’s been too long. I’m not going to last if you do that.”

She bit her lip shyly as she looked up at him, nodding.

The lip was the final straw. He pushed her back down on the bed and watched as she laid there, her eyes black and her hair flowing around her as she stared up at him. He pushed his boxers down and slowly climbed on top of her. Their lips met again, and she was just as hungry, just as intense. He dropped his hand between her legs and— _sweet Circe._ He didn’t even have the patience to pull down her knickers, he simply pulled them to side and pushed himself inside of her.

Hermione let out a low moan as he filled her. He stilled when he was deep inside of her, gasping at feeling her after so many months. He dropped his head down and kissed her softly until she whimpered beneath him and he began to thrust into her slowly.

He watched her as he fucked her. Her eyes were tightly closed, her mouth slightly open as she moaned and panted timed with his thrusts. Her hands were wrapped around his wrists until she moaned loudly, moving her hands to his arse, gripping him and attempting to pull him deeper, harder, inside of her. “Open your eyes,” he said quietly as he began to thrust harder, obeying her hands.

Her eyes flew open to meet his. “Draco,” she moaned, her fingers digging into his arse where she still held him.

“Come for me,” he begged. “C-come for me.”

She removed her hands from his arse and they were suddenly on his face. “Tell me,” she said desperately.

Draco groaned.

_so close so fucking close_

“Tell me, please.”

“I love you,” he gasped. “I love you.”

She cried out then, tightening and shuddering around him. Her nails dug into the flesh of his back and she pulled him into her, her legs wrapped around his waist, clinging desperately to him as she came. She held him so close and so tightly that he could barely move. He had never seen her come like this and it only took a few shallow thrusts before he was moaning against her shoulder as he came, too. 

Her orgasm lasted close to a minute, and then her death-grip on him relaxed slightly. He pulled away slightly to look at her—her skin flushed pink, sweat coating her body. “Don’t,” she said quietly, pulling him back to her.

Draco kissed her shoulder gently. “I love you,” he whispered again.

She fell asleep clinging to him that night.

 **_Room 5250, part II:_ ** **  
**

Draco awoke the next morning expecting her to have vanished into thin air, as she was wont to do.

Instead, she laid on her side already awake, watching him. “Hi,” she whispered with a smile.

“Hi.” He couldn’t help but smile back.

“Sleep well?” she asked. “Nightmares?”

“Slept well, yes. Nightmares, no. Not with you.”

Hermione smiled again and began to run her fingers along his chest. “Good.”

“What time is it?” he asked.

“Afternoon,” she said with a shrug, never stopping her ministrations.

“Afternoon?” he gulped.

“Figured you hadn’t been sleeping well. Figured you could use the rest.” She moved closer to him and leaned in to kiss him gently on the lips.

“Hermione—” he began to protest.

“Shh.”

“What about—?”

She sighed. “Food, then we’ll talk?”

Draco couldn’t read her expression, so he simply nodded and handed her the room service menu from where it sat on his nightstand table. She quickly ordered and then laid back next to him. She threw an arm across his belly and she pressed a kiss to his chest. It was so easy, and so affectionate, and Draco was so starved for her touch he thought he’d died and gone to heaven. Or, at the very least, he could now die a happy man.

The room service arrived, and they ate quietly, wrapped in fluffy robes. Draco watched her the whole time. She seemed lighter and happier than she had last night. Some of her color had returned, too.

He wondered if he had had anything to do with it. But he wasn’t going to get his hopes up.

Hermione had finished eating and was taking tiny sips of black coffee, her hands otherwise tucked demurely in her lap.

“Hermione?”

“Yes. I suppose you want to know why I just showed up here last night,” she replied nonchalantly.

“Yes, I am.”

“You know me. Not good with orders. I do what I want,” she began.

“Yes, very true,” he agreed, not sure what she was getting at.

“I got fed up with the conference rule. I didn’t feel like I was doing any good just sitting behind a desk, pushing papers. My _voice_ , that’s how I always used to get what I wanted. I’d speak, and people would listen, and things would _change,_ you know?”

“You are an impressive public speaker,” he said with a nod and bite of scrambled egg.

She nodded. “When did I stop using my voice, Draco? I’m sure you know. But the point is – I stopped. I became afraid and I stopped _speaking._ So last night I decided that needed to change. So, I defied my boss, my boss’ boss, and the Minister himself and I got on that stage and spoke. And guess what? People _listened,_ Draco, they listened!”

Draco couldn’t help but smile at her enthusiasm. It had been a long time since he had seen her like this. “Of course they did, Hermione.”

Hermione took a large gulp of her coffee. Setting her cup back down on the table, she looked down at her hands. “There was another attack last night, Draco,” she said quietly.

“What!?” He gripped his own cup so tightly that it shattered in his hand.

“Draco!” she rushed to his side and pulled his hand to her. “Hold still.”

“Bloody hell, Hermione, I don’t give a _fuck—”_

“There’s glass in your hand, Draco. Let me look at it, please.”

“Hermione—”

“Your hand, Draco,” she demanded.

Unhappily, he held it out for her to inspect. She gently grasped his hand in her smaller one, before she began pulling small shards of glass out of his palm, a determined look on her face. “Hermione, it’s fine,” he said gruffly.

“I’m almost done.” She finished pulling out the glass and grabbed her wand. She made a motion over his palm and he felt the skin begin to heal itself. After a few moments, she squeezed his hand. “Done.” She smiled.

“Now continue with your story.”

“Relax,” she said with another smile. “I’m here.”

He felt his lips quirk slightly, because that was obviously true. She was _fine._

“It was Dolohov, by the way. Must’ve still been aching to finish me off after the Department of Mysteries incident.”

Draco winced. He was very familiar with the thin purple scar that ran across ribs. He had traced it with his fingers, his tongue, his kisses when she felt self-conscious about it. “They got him?” he asked quietly.

Hermione nodded. “Yeah, they got him.” She didn’t look at him.

“Hermione?”

“I almost got hit with the Killing Curse,” she said quietly. “It was so close I could feel it touch my skin, Draco. It was cold, and empty, and it was like Death had just caressed my cheek—” she paused and gulped.

Draco knew what she had felt. He had felt it once, too. He watched as she gathered herself and waited for her to continue.

“I almost died last night, Draco. It all happened so fast. I was speaking, and then there was this green light—and I thought I was dead, I really thought I was dead. And then an Auror was dragging me off the stage, and the Aurors had Dolohov in custody, and Ron was there, and he wrapped his arms around me—”

“Granger—”

“No, let me finish. He had his arms around me and I just disapparated without a second thought.”

“Why?” he asked softly.

“Because in that moment, Draco, when I thought I was about to die, do you know what I thought? Do you know?”

“Tell me,” he begged.

“I thought: I’m going to die and never see him again, and he’s going to spend the rest of his life thinking that I just didn’t love him enough, and that—” she cut herself off with a gulp and a shake of her head. “I had to see you. I had to. So, I found you.”

“Hermione,” he said softly.

She rose from where she was still kneeling next to him and sat on his thigh, wrapping her arms around his neck and nuzzling her face into his neck. “I don’t need any more time, Draco.”

He leaned into her touch, reveling in the feel of her against him, her words caressing his damaged soul. “You’re sure?”

Hermione nodded against his neck. “I’ve never been more sure, about anything.” She trailed a series of gentle kisses up his neck, a lightly nipped at his earlobe, sending a shiver of pleasure down his spine. “I lost you last time, and I can’t, not again. Not ever again.”

“You’ll do it? You’ll tell him?” he asked. His tone was desperate, pleading, he knew—but in that moment he couldn’t find it in him to care.

“Yes,” she whispered softly in his ear. Another shiver.

“When?”

She looked up at him. “Right now, if you want. Where’s Noctua?”

“You can’t do this through owl, Hermione.”

“I don’t want to waste any more time,” she whispered, running her hands through his hair.

He closed his eyes. “I can wait just a bit longer,” he whispered.

“Just a bit. I mean it this time. I promise you, love.”

_love_

She kissed him hard when they parted, and her lips lingered on his, like it pained her break away from him—and he knew, Merlin he fucking _knew_ , because he felt like he was about to break with how much he wanted her to stay—she twined her fingers with his and smiled against his lips. “I’ll come to you, when it’s done?” she said quietly.

Draco nodded and dropped his forehead to her. “You know where to find me.” He closed his eyes and silently willed her forward. He was trembling against her slightly, he knew. They had talked about this moment for so long, and here she was finally agreeing, and oh gods, how he wanted her to mean it. How he wanted it to be true. But Draco was terrified. She was so close to ending his pain, but she also had the power to completely and utterly destroy him if she changed her mind.

“Look at me,” she whispered. “Don’t be scared, Draco.” She smiled at him.

“Promise me,” he begged.

“I promise you,” she said without hesitation. She kissed him then, just a light peck on the lips, like they did this every day, like a normal couple. It felt like a promise, that kiss-—that one day, maybe, they’d be that normal couple that pecked each other on the lips like it was nothing.

Then she was gone.

 **_Apartment 56:_ **

It had been two days and Draco felt himself spiraling downwards very quickly.

She had changed her mind—she was going to stay with Weasley.

The thought was like an icepick, chipping slowly away at his fragile heart. With every chime of the clock, he could feel his heart being picked away at inside his chest. He was afraid that it was close to shattering completely, with no possible way of ever being put back together again.

She had changed her mind—she wasn’t going to come back to him. Not this time.

The thought again. Another piece of his heart chipped away. He felt sick to his stomach.

She’s not coming back. It’s over.

He was going to vomit.

The newest released book on advanced potion-making was resting in his lap, but in the last hour he hadn’t been able to move past the first page of the first chapter.

Instead, he focused on the taunt in his head:

_she changed her mind—she’s staying with Weasley_

_she’s not coming back_

_it’s over_

It’s _over._

Over and over again, a deafening cacophony of muddled voices, screaming at him, taunting him.

The storm inside his head was so loud, he almost missed the light tapping at his door. The book fell from his lap as he launched himself out of his armchair and raced towards the door, throwing it open.

There, on his welcome mat, at his apartment door, stood Hermione Granger, smiling at him. “Hi. Can I come in?”

She was here. She was _here._

Draco nodded dumbly and motioned for her to step inside.

“Draco?”

He looked at her, but still found himself unable to speak.

Her bright eyes softened as she took him in. “You insufferable man. You thought I’d changed my mind, didn’t you?” she asked with a small smile.

Draco averted his eyes and gave her a small nod. Suddenly, her arms were wrapped around his neck, pulling him into her. Her curls, wilder than usual, were in his face, assaulting him with their smell---lavender and vanilla—and finally, he could _breathe again._ “You’re here?” he asked quietly.

“I’m here. I promised, remember?” she said, squeezing him tighter. “You stupid, infuriating, wonderful man.” She laughed then, and the melodic lilt of it started the arduous task of repairing his heart.

He realized he was standing there limply as this beautiful witch had her arms around him. His brain was pulled from his haze of misery and self-loathing, and he was wrapping his arms around her waist, pulling her flush against him. “You’re really here?”

“Yes!” she laughed again. “Are you or are you not going to invite me in for tea? Or perhaps something stronger?”

He released his hold on her, but refused to remove his arms from her completely, lest she disappear once more. “Of course. Welcome to my humble abode, Granger. Wine? Or firewhiskey? If you want tea, you’ll have to make it yourself. I’m right shit at it and Jinxy isn’t here at the moment.

“Whatever you’re having is fine.”

“Firewhiskey it is, then. Come on,” he said, pulling lightly at her fingers.

She smiled at him again and allowed him to lead her into his kitchen, hand-in-hand.

He relinquished his hold on her hand to find his bottle of firewhiskey where it was stowed in the pantry. Upon finding it, he _accio’_ d two glasses, pouring two large glasses for them. He handed Hermione hers and immediately downed his own. Hermione took two small sips from her own glass with a frown before placing it back on the counter. “Come here.”

He obliged and she wrapped her arms around him once more, lightly stroking up and down his spine. “I didn’t realize you’d worry so much. I’m sorry.”

“I was convinced you’d changed your mind.”

“I know. I know. Here, pour another glass for yourself and we’ll go talk?” she suggested.

Draco nodded brusquely, pouring himself another glass. He was shaky with nerves and adrenaline, and he appreciative that Hermione seemed to understand. He took her hand and led her into his living room and towards the leather armchair he had just been sitting in. He sat, still holding her hand. He looked up at her, watching her, wondering what she would do.

She sat her glass on the end table next to the chair and sat herself down on his lap, leaning into him.

Draco rested his chin on top of her head and breathed her in. “So?” he asked.

“I ended it,” she said without hesitation.

“You did?”

“Yes.” They each took a gulp of firewhiskey before she continued: “He knew. He knew I’d been having an affair.”

Draco was surprised. “He knew? For how long?”

She shrugged. “About a year.”

“How?”

“I’d been different for a while now, apparently. We weren’t having sex. I stopped telling him I loved him, stopped kissing him. I hadn’t even realized.” She shrugged. “He told me it clicked the other night, when I left him. He knew I was with someone else.”

“Are you ok?” he whispered.

She frowned. “It was hard. He didn’t take it well, even though he already knew. He didn’t think I’d leave him, I guess. We had a huge fight. It was—It was bad. I told him that I wasn’t happy anymore, that I didn’t love him anymore. I told him I loved you, that I had for a while.”

“Me?”

“I told him I wanted a divorce, and I told him that I loved _you_ , Draco Malfoy.”

An hour ago, he thought his heart was going to shatter into a million little pieces, but now— _but now—_ his heart was exploding with happiness. “Me?”

“Yes, you. I told Harry, too.”

“Are they going to show up at my door to murder me?” he asked seriously.

She laughed again. “Harry, no. He wasn’t too shocked. He always wondered why you saved me at those conferences. It finally made sense to him.”

“I was your bodyguard,” he grumbled.

“Not the second time, my dear,” she replied, tapping his nose lightly. “I got a _lot_ of questions about that.”

“And Weasley? Is he going to come and try to break down my door?”

“I wouldn’t entirely rule that out,” she began, chuckling as she saw the color drain from his face. But don’t worry, I put up a couple of protective wards on your apartment before I knocked.”

“My beautiful swot.” He kissed the top of her hair, and she turned her to better face him and brought her lips to his.

She kissed him back and he breathed her in—her goodness, her light, her beautiful soul. Draco finally felt whole again—his other half was here, and finally, she was wholly his. He was never going to let her go, not ever again.

She pulled away from to look into his eyes. “What does this mean for us?” she asked quietly.

He smiled at her. “I just told you. You’re mine, Hermione.”

_mine_

“Yours?” she murmured.

“If you’ll have me.”

Hermione smiled again, before taking a small sip of her firewhiskey. She nuzzled her face against her neck, whispering against the exposed skin of his throat, “And you? Are you mine?”

“I’ve always been yours,” he whispered back.

_always_

**_2012:_ **

**_Room 309, part III:_ ** **  
**

“You’re insufferable, you know that?” she cried.

“He was flirting with you, Hermione. What, I’m just supposed to sit and watch while some waiter flirts with my wife?”

“He was just _trying_ to be friendly, Draco. He wanted tips, you idiot! And dammit, I looked pretty tonight, it was nice of him to say so.”

“Yes, you do. And _I’m_ the one—dammit, Hermione. I didn’t tell you that I thought you looked beautiful tonight, did I?’

 _you fucking idiot_

“No, you did not.”

“You’re gorgeous. Fucking radiant. Absolutely arresting, love of my life.”

“Too late now,” she said with a shrug.

Draco walked towards her, reaching out for her. “Hermione, I’m sorry. I’m an idiot, you know that.”

“Yes, I do,” she sniffed.

“Don’t be mad at me, please? I’m jealous, and possessive, and stupid. You know that. And you really do look beautiful,” he begged.

Hermione regarded him closely for a moment before responding. “You will go back to that restaurant and leave that poor boy a better tip, _at least_ 50-percent, after the stunt you pulled.”

“If I say that I will, will you forgive me?”

“Yes,” she huffed.

He opened his arms for her. “Come here.” She grudgingly obliged, and he wrapped himself around her. “I’m sorry I’m such a prat,” he murmured. “

“It’s our anniversary, Draco. Couldn’t you have just been nice to the poor boy?”

“I’m not like you, Hermione. I’m only nice to you. You know that.”

She sighed. “Yes, I know.”

He frowned.

“Don’t frown, Draco,” she said with a frown of her own.

“I just—I don’t want to disappoint you.”

“Oh, hush. I’m mad about the waiter. You’ll give him a nice tip and I’ll get over it. And tonight, we’ll shag, and I’ll forget all about it.” She smiled up at him, the expression on her face softening.

“Do you recognize the room?” he asked quietly.

Hermione smirked. “I do. Very subtle.”

“Can I tell you a secret?”

“Of course,” she said, wrapping her arms around his neck.

“Remember that day when you were so worried that you’d missed something? The night we first slept together?”

“Yes,” she said, with a furrowed brow.

“You gave me a hard-on fourth year at the Yule Ball. I had wanted to sleep with you for a while.”

“No, I didn’t. And no, you didn’t.”

“Oh, yes, you did. And yes, I did.”

“You’re such a liar, Draco,” she scoffed.

“I’m dead serious, Hermione! You looked fucking beautiful. I think I always had a bit of a thing for you, the more I thought about it. Considering how things ended up.”

“Tell me another secret?” she asked.

“Only after you come to bed with me, my love.”

She smiled as he led her towards the bed they had once fallen into, drunk and completely unaware of what they would eventually become to each other. He pushed her down on the mattress, wanting to climb on top of her and ravish her. She surprised him when she sat up, her brow furrowed. His little swot was thinking, _dammit._

“I was probably on top, don’t you think?”

“What?”

“I always like to be on top when I’m drunk. Think I was then?”

Draco furrowed his own brow and thought about his own, brief flashes of that night. “I’m pretty sure you were on top, actually.”

She smirked. “On your back, pretty boy,” she ordered.

“Oh, bossy Granger,” he murmured. “I like her.”

She ripped his clothes from his body, tossing them around the room haphazardly. “Love her?” she whispered.

“More than anything,” he whispered back.

“Take my clothes off.”

He grinned before pulling down the zipper at the back of her dress and pulled it down her body. She stood slightly to step out of it for him. Draco wanted to throw it against the wall, but he knew that she had bought the dress for a special occasion, for _this –_ and he didn’t want to ruin it. He placed it gently on the floor, and she smiled at him. Draco felt his cock grow harder.

She was almost naked then, clad only in a silk, emerald green corset bra and matching thong. He couldn’t mask the groan that escaped his throat. “I want these to stay on,” he whispered.

“That was the plan.”

“Gods, I fucking love you.”

He pulled the cups of her bra down and attacked her nipples with his lips and tongue, licking and sucking them.

“Draco,” she moaned.

Draco gently nibbled at one of the peaks before pulling away. “Yes?”

“Love you,” she murmured. “Insufferable—prat.”

He smirked and then kissed her, deeply, moving her knickers to the side. He rubbed the head of his cock against her and found her wet and waiting. “Want me?” he asked hoarsely.

“Yes,” she groaned.

He thrust up, and she adjusted herself to take him. She slid down on him slowly, her brow furrowed. “Take me,” he murmured as she stretched around him.

She was fully seated on him, and he saw her gaze drawn downwards, where they were joined. He lowered his own eyes and groaned at the sight. Hermione on top of him, her knickers pushed to the side, his cock buried inside of her. It was such an erotic sight that he thrust up unintentionally.

She moaned, and then it was all instinct. She slammed down on him, and he thrust into her, both rushing towards their release.

“Love you,” he whispered, and he arched his back, trying to thrust into her deeper.

Hermione dropped down on him with a loud moan. “Love you,” she murmured back as she rode him. “Gonna come.”

“Come for me, beautiful,” he whispered. “Come on my cock.”

Her hands slammed down on his chest, her nails digging into his flesh. “Draco!” she cried out as she tightened around him.

He held her as she came and continued to thrust into her through her orgasm. “Love you forever,” he groaned.

She was boneless on top of him as he continued to thrust into her. “Love _you_ forever,” she whispered, and he was coming, hard and fast, her name on his tongue as he cried out.

He hadn’t quite regained his breath when he asked, “You wanted another secret?”

Still breathing hard, she said, “You never answered my question. Sometimes you call me ‘Hermione’ and sometimes ‘Granger.’ Why?”

“ _That’s_ the secret you want to know?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, my love. It’s ‘Granger’ if I want to antagonize you. ‘Hermione’ when I want you to love me.”

“You are so foolish,” she muttered.

“Just love you,” he said with yawn.

“Think Jinxy is mad about the violets?” she asked quietly.

“I think Jinxy might drown herself over the violets, Granger. Why did you even touch them? You know they’re her favorites.”

“It’s a bloody plant! I’ve read all the books—”

“You don’t have the gift, my dear.”

“I like violets, too,” she argued.

“So _don’t_ touch them.”

She was quiet for a long time as she held him afterwards. “I love you, so much.”

“Love you more,” he murmured sleepily.

And in her embrace, he drifted off to sleep.

**_Fin._ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's all, folks. I may expand on this story in the future, but for now it's completed.  
> Thanks for all the comments, I appreciate each and every one of them.
> 
> Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed!


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